The Nature of Darkness
by Dinas Emrys
Summary: Sequel to Light and Darkness, Sly and Carmelita are taking care of their infant son when a stranger comes to call, bringing a tale of power, danger, and self sacrifice.
1. Strangers

Disclaimer: (For the whole fic) I have no claim to anything that was made by Sucker Punch or anyone else including Sly, Carmelita, and the other characters. I only have claim to the characters I myself created.

"If you were going to die soon and had only one phone call you could make, who would you call and what would you say? And why are you waiting?"

– Stephen Levine. American Spiritual Teacher

Strangers

_How did I get myself into this mess?_ thought Sly as he faced his most dangerous task he had ever attempted. He had broken into the Louvre, the Smithsonian, the Pentagon, stolen from some of the most dangerous criminals in the world, but nothing had prepared him for this: changing his two year old son's diaper. _When in doubt..._ he decided, yelling for the only person who could possibly help, "Carmelita!"

Walking carefully into the room, Carmelita sighed, and placed her hands on either side of her hips. Her long black tresses tied back into a ponytail that they vainly tried to escape, she stood in the doorway with a look of half exasperation and half amusement.

"You know we agreed that it was your turn today," she smiled, inwardly laughing at the look of confusion on her husband's face. Sly was one of the best thieves in the world, and he still had problems changing a diaper. _Just as well_, she thought,_ If he didn't have some flaws, he'd be insufferable."_

"Just a little help? Please," Sly pleaded, looking so dejected that Carmelita couldn't keep herself from bursting with laughter. Sly quickly backed away from the table, allowing his wife to take care of the problem.

"Alright, but just this once," she said after she had calmed down, "You see you just have to unwrap the old diaper, wipe him off and..." she suddenly stopped when she realized her only audience was her son. "SLY!" she exploded out of irritation and reverted to her nickname for him back when she was the cop assigned to arrest him, "One of these days ringtail, I'm going to get you!"

It was later that night, after Sly had charmed his way back into his wife's good graces and the two had relaxed into the unique calm that comes only after one's infant son finally falls to sleep. Settling into the peace after the storm, Sly relaxed back into his armchair reading his newspaper, and Carmelita sat down to finish the book that her son's needs had interrupted. Peaceful silence stretched between them, but for the crackle of logs in the fire and the turning of pages. After a few momentsof this, Carmelita quietly began to laugh.

"Shh. You'll wake him. What in that book is so funny?" Sly whispered, almost desperate to keep his sleeping son asleep and to preserve the relative calm that had settled around them.

"It's not the book," Carmelita chuckled as she waved her hand about the room, "It's this. You and I, master thieves, sitting calmly in front of a fire, and apart from the stolen pieces of art, a perfect picture of suburban family. All we'd need is a maid and a few nosy neighbors and we'd be the poster child for any community"

"Even master thieves need to relax once in a while," he noted, " And it's very nice to be able to, at least for a little time," he commented, reminding Carmelita of the fact that he would eventually be unable to contain himself before he would inevitable embark on one of his dangerous capers. For all his good traits, Sly was possessd with an instinctive need to act and continued peace caused him restlessness that only thievery could cure.

Their relative peace was suddenly broken as a loud knock resounded throughout the house. Rising quickly, the two half ran to the door, intent on keeping whoever it was from waking their son, who could become incredibly difficult if someone woke him from his nap. Opening the door quietly, Carmelita and Sly opened the door to reveal a stranger standing in their doorway. A large black jaguar, he was wearing what looked to be a mildly expensive gray leisure suit and a small bowler cap slightly askew covering part of his face, and all of which smelled just slightly of mothballs and something eerily familiar. Despite the fact that they had never met the jaguar before, he seemed to know them.

"I need your help," he said before he collapsed onto the floor, a dark stain spreading from his right shoulder. As his cap fell off, it revealed the face of their friend, Hugo, one of the Headhunters. Reaching down to turn the jaguar over, Sly finally figured out the second smell. It was blood.


	2. A Doctor and His Patient

Wow, that was a long time. Now I know how cartoonists feel after they go on sabbatical. Now that my year-long break is over, time to get started.

Life and love are life and love, a bunch of violets is a bunch of violets, and to drag in the idea of a point is to ruin everything. Live and let live, love and let love, flower and fade, and follow the natural curve, which flows on, pointless.

D. H. Lawrence 1885-1930, British Author

A Doctor and His Patient

Thanks to Carmelita's speed at calling Bentley and to Sly's managing to stop most of the bleeding, Hugo managed to live through the night despite the wound to his stomach. While the jaguar slept off some of the effects of his injuries upstairs, Sly and Carmelita proceeded to call up the rest of the gang, hoping against hope that the others would be able to make it back in time.

Thanks to an abundance of funds and a couple all nighters, they were able to call back all of the old gang. Many things had changed over the last three years, but it was obvious that the important things were the same. Murray still had the look of a pro-wrestler gone superhero, his trademark red bandanna still tied around his neck. Bentley and his beloved wife Penelope were the same, with their heads either in a book or under their latest contraption.

"How's our patient?" asked Carmelita, bouncing her son on one shoulder.

"Better," answered Bentley, coming out of the makeshift operating room, "He lost a lot of blood, and I still can't figure out what made that wound, but it looks like he'll pull through."

"He's been asleep for three days," commented Sly, worried, "Shouldn't he have woken up by now?"

"I just did," came a voice of a very grumpy jaguar.

At the same moment, the entire gang turned towards the staircase, looking up at a beaten and battered black cat, wrapped in a blanket and leaning heavily on the banister. At this moment, the gang found it hard to imagine this humbled and weakened feline as the shadowy assassin that they had worked with only a few years before.

"What the hell are you doing walking!" screamed Bentley, rushing up the stairs, closely followed by Murray, "You had a hole straight through your stomach! You should be unconscious, not walking around."

"Shut up turtle," growled Hugo, "I'm a lot stronger than most. Plus, I've got my magic to seal the wound up."

"The internal damage could still . . . ," began Bentley. Suddenly, Hugo was standing in front of him, glaring angrily down at him.

"I said I was fine! Now Shut up and listen." Upon which, he promptly began to cough up blood. After several minutes of fussing and arguing, he was placed in an armchair by the Coopers' fireplace, the others seated or standing as they wished.

"Sorry. Blood loss always makes me grouchy," grunted Hugo after they'd literally forced him to sit.

"How did this happen?" asked Sly, hoping to avoid another fight between the doctor and his patient.

"Stupidity. Got ambushed by a bunch of amateurs. One got in a lucky shot. I'm sure you have the same problem with noobs who want to get a quick rep."

"But why did you come here?" clarified Sly, "I mean, there could have been over a hundred hospitals closer than we are. We're practically off the edge of the earth here." Which, of course, was fairly true. Sly and Carmelita had moved out into a cottage on a cliff overlooking the sea. Moving from Paris had been tough for both of them, but they realized that their son would need both parents around, and safe. It had taken much of their first year, but they had managed t build an underground hideout which was about triple the size of their cottage, thanks to a few of Bentley's gadgets.

"Didn't come here for me. I just got hit on the way. It's Cedric. The idiot got himself screwed over so badly not even I could bail him out."

"What happened!" shouted everyone except Carmelita, who hushed them, trying to keep her son asleep.

"He broke rule number one. Never travel through time."


	3. One Uncertain Step

"Half our life is spent trying to find something to do with the time we have rushed through life trying to save."

-Will Rogers

* * *

One Uncertain Step

"Time travel!" shouted Bentley, excited, "What? Where? When? How do you do it? We've tried numerous times to create a time machine but each time we were unable to create the necessary disruption. This could be the breakthrough we were looking for."

"It's a power problem," sighed Hugo, "Electrical, atomic, even nuclear power all suck. Compared to a living being's level of power, those are all pointless. Anyway, the idiot got himself stuck, and now he either can't get out, or worse, he doesn't feel able to."

"Able to?" asked Carmelita, "If he was able to go in the first place, why . . ."

"Feelings of responsibility. When most people get 'trapped' in the past, it's because the morons did something stupid like fall in love, feel morally responsible to help, or just get comfortable. Then they see something they could fix. And it would be so easy and help so much, and the idiots do it. Then the entire timeline gets fucked up and the professionals have to be called in to change it back."

"Why don't you contact them. If he's caused some sort of problem . . ."

Again, Hugo interrupted, "Because we are the professionals. More importantly, that's why we were there in the first place. Some idiot got it into his head that if he changed events just slightly, his country would be better off today. Cedric and I were hired to drag the idiot back, kicking and screaming if we had to."

"What do you want us to do?" asked Sly, leaning forward in his chair, "Sounds like a mission for mages, not thieves."

"Where I'm going, you, Sly, may be the only one I need. We underestimated the guy. We thought Cedric could take him on his own, and now he's missing too. I'll need help, no matter how much I don't want to admit it. Do you or Carmelita speak Arabic?"

"I do, " answered Carmelita, automatically. To her husband's confused stare, she explained, "At Interpol, we were more useful for every language you learned. I also know French, German, Portuguese, Russian, Chinese, and Vietnamese. Oh, and Spanish, of course."

"Then you'd be a big help too. I need the two of you to come with me. I have no idea how long it will take, but it will probably be at least a little dangerous."

"Hey, what about us?" asked Penelope, who had been talking with Bentley up until then about the possibility of combing magic with their technology in order to fuel a time travel machine, "Sly and Carm are excellent thieves and fighters, but Bentley and I have more technological ability than anyone else."

"And exactly how useful do you think tech is going to be in a society where modern wheelchairs haven't even been invented? Where remote control is science fiction, and computers don't even exist. So sorry, but the two of you will have to wait till later to go on the time-travel ride. Plus, you must be 4 feet tall at least to get on, " he droned sarcastically, "Murray, on the other hand, would be a big help. For those of you who don't speak Arabic, just act dumb or somber, there's enough people around that it won't seem odd.

"I can't," Carmelita objected, "Our son."

"What part of _time travel _don't you get? We'll leave, then come back minutes after we left. He won't even know you left to begin with."

Sly pulled his wife aside, looking her straight in the eyes. "Carmelita, Cedric saved our lives. I have to at least save his. I owe him. If you don't think that we can leave our son, or are afraid of leaving him, it's fine, and I don't want you to come if you can't put it out of your mind. We'll survive and Hugo will just have to teach me Arabic. It's up to you, and no one will think less of you for it."

Suddenly, the room fell dead silent. The others began edging away from the married couple, knowing about Carmelita's famous Spanish temper. Sly apparently figured out that he had screwed up big time, but stayed, waiting for Carmelita to say.

"Ringtail, you're lucky I'm not pregnant, cause if I'd been hormonal when you said that, not even Murray could have kept me from strangling you. As it is, lets get this over with."

"In that case, I'll get to work," sighed Hugo, amused by obvious tension between the two. Holding his hand over the wound to his chest, he closed his eyes and breathed deeply. His hand began to glow, and he became obviously more comfortable. Sighing, he pulled a knife from his boot and sliced open the palm of his left hand. Using his right, he began to draw circles on the floor, followed by pentagrams made up of a strange cursive script that no one else had seen before. Pulling out his camera, Bentley began snapping pictures of the diagram, wanting to translate it later.

Finally, Hugo finished. "Let's get going." Stepping into the circles, he gestured for Sly and Murray to follow. Handing her son over to Penelope, Carmelita kissed his forehead and smiled, before taking her place beside Sly. Then, Hugo began to speak.

"Antarath umezer yylinana verilly dannika gulrilu opresft hastanna getsuha mankali draconesum alba." Continuing with his strange incantation, light that could only be described as being dark flooded from his hands, pouring into the diagram, following the lines, until the light spread throughout it entirely. With one last evocation, he slammed his hands onto the diagram, letting the black light climb to the ceiling, creating a wind which ripped around the room like a trapped tornado. With one last blast, the four disappeared. Then, everything was still. Absolutely still.

* * *

Or not. Miles away and decades in the past, the four crashed into the warm sand of a Arabian desert. The sun shone just above the horizon, tinting the desert pink with its evening light.

"I know I forgot to ask," said Sly, "but where and when are we going?"

"1918. Closely following the First World War and briefly before the second. Welcome to Israel."


	4. Disguise 101

Author's note: For clarification, my Arabic is�pretty rusty, and more importantly, I have always sucked at translating it phonetically into English letters. Just in case, all Arabic words will be written in italics, and if I screw anything up, please feel free to correct me. Also, glossaries will be placed at the end of each chapter, so that you will know what each word means.

Disguise 101

He who finds a new path is a pathfinder, even if the trail has to be found again by others; and he who walks far ahead of his contemporaries is a leader, even though centuries pass before he is recognized as such. 

– Ibn Khaldûn, Arabic Historian

As much as Carmelita hated to admit it, having been one of Interpol's top inspectors before working with the world's greatest thief, she could not be prepared for everything. Time travel is a excellent example. Most people are simply not meant to travel through time. Which is likely why, after a few seconds of looking over the area that surrounded them, everyone but Hugo was violently sick. 

As Carmelita straightened, she noticed where they were. Standing by a brick hut on top of a dusty hill, they looked out over . . . nothing. The landscape, filled with tan, dusty rock, was abandoned as far as the eye could see. _A perfect place to land, or to hide,_ though Carmelita as she stared at the endless void that surrounded them.

"Sorry, forgot to warn you. Kickback's a bitch. _Maalesh_." With that, he pushed aside the door to the hut and entered, expecting us to follow. Leaving Murray, whose experience was obviously worse than mine or Sly's, outside, we entered the dank and dreary little hut. 

"_Maalesh?_" asked Sly, knowing nothing of the Arabic language. 

"Your first lesson, ringtail," Carmelita began teasingly, "_Maalesh_ is the Arabic way of accepting what cannot be changed. If your shoe has a hole, _maalesh. _If your cow got sick and died, _maalesh_."

"Well, that seems simple enough. Where are we, by the way?"

"The middle of nowhere," growled a voice from the depths of the hut. After a few minutes of swearing and the noises of blunt objects meeting toes, there was the sound of match being lit and suddenly, the smell of burning fat permeated the room, threatening to unnerve their already irritated digestive systems. However, the light was helpful, and illuminated a room much larger than the hut appeared. Climbing down a set of wooden stairs, Carmelita found herself in an Arabian bolt-hole, filled with seemingly random items. A _kuffiyah_ hung from a drawer in a Victorian-style dresser which sat propped up on a rock in place of one of its legs. A wooden closet built into the wall hung open, displaying a series of robes, men's and women's in every size and color imaginable. _Burkahs_ and _abayyas _littered the floor, creating the need to kick one's feet when stepping to avoid tripping on some random garment that had fallen when one wasn't paying attention. A woman's make-up mirror on top of a shelf, surrounded by bottles filled with strange and repulsive liquids, all labeled in the beautiful, flowing script that is the Arabic alphabet. Mounted against one wall lay a series of blades, ranging from miniature throwing knives to full-blown sabers, with edges that had obviously seen use. Opposite these was a rack filled with pistols and rifles, all originating from the twentieth century and, more importantly, from Israel itself.

"What is this place?" asked Sly, his mouth hanging open at the sight of such a plethora of exotic and amazing artifacts.

"The fruit of our travels," shrugged Hugo, rummaging in a box while he waved impatiently at the room in general, "We spent some time here a while back, and decided that it would be a good idea to have our own hideout. Just in case." Grabbing three of the bottles on the shelf and an armful of dark cloth, he stalked into a room at the back of the hut, only to emerge a few minutes later as an Arabian cutthroat, complete with cigarette. He had somehow added a beard to his normally clean-shaven face and surrounded his eyes with kohl, giving him an even more menacing look. Over his traditional long-skirted robe, he wore a sash, tied at the front, which held a long-barreled�Colt on its right side and a long, cruelly curved dagger on the left. 

"Don't look so surprised," he sneered, looking at the startled faces of Sly and Carmelita, "The two of you get the same treatment, and Murray will also need to dye his skin. Now, what to do." Reaching into a closet, he began to pull out a series of robes, until he found one that satisfied him. Throwing it, along with the usual loose trousers and shirt of an Arab _bedu, _to Sly, he twitched his head towards on of the room built into the wall behind him. Smiling, Sly complied, giving his wife a mischievous glance in passing.

"Now for you," Hugo began, sounding amused, "Either you cen dress and behave as the traditional Arab woman, follow behind us, carry the baggage, run errands, all in complete silence and obedience, or you can dress as a man, which is _haram_, break all the laws of conduct governing the Arab world, and if found, get stoned to death. Your choice."

"I'll take the taboo and stoning over servitude any day," laughed Carmelita, knowing as Hugo did, that for her, there really was no choice. "Just in case though, pack one set of women's robes, they could come in handy."

"One?" laughed Hugo, "The great Lawrence of Arabia dressed in a woman's robe in order to get behind enemy Turkish lines during the First World War so many times, people lost count. There'll be one for each of us, in addition to a few extras. There is another bolt-hole in Jerusalem is we need English costume."

About that time, Murray entered, still holding his stomach. "What'd I miss?" he asked, still not feeling well.

"Nothing of great importance, my good man, came Sly's voice as he exited the changing room. Amazingly, Sly seemed to be as home in the long, layered robes of the Arabian wanderers as the light, comfortable shirt and pants he usually wore on his cases. "Well, it is the hallmark of a great thief, the ability to change clothes at will." He had copied Hugo's style, adding a few touches for his own amusement including a curled moustache, a jaunty tilt to his sash and _kuffiyah,_ and to top it off, a German Luger P.08 pistol nestled in his sash. Amused at his own transformation, he tucked his unique cane into his robe and leaned against the wall, enjoying the effect. 

Smirking at Sly's interpretation of native dress, Hugo picked up two bottles, one of fur dye, another of skin dye, and asked "Who's next?"

"What's that for?" asked Murray, curious.

"Hate to break it to you, but most individuals around here have dark skin, either due to the sun, or personal genetics. If you don't want to stand out like a _firengi_ for our entire stay here, you and Carmelita will dye your skin and fur, respectively."

"Hand me the bottle," sighed Carmelita, knowing that she had worn much more elaborate disguises before, having lived�worked with Sly for several years.

"Want me to join you? Help you get the dye in completely?" asked Sly, mock lecherous, twirling one side of the fake moustache.

"You're an Arab, not a Frenchman!" snarled Hugo, "And you have more important things to worry about, such as your complete inability to speak Arabic. Given a week or so, you should be able to talk�like a brain-damaged two year-old, but you and Murray both will need to be able to blend in. You can pretend simply to be silent and cruel, which, given your new�appearance, shouldn't be too hard. Murray, your size makes you stand out already, so just act dumb. Let either Carmelita or myself do the talking. Understood?"

"Understood," came a voice from one of the dressing rooms. Clearly, Carmelita had slipped in there when Hugo had begun his rant, "Hey Sly, There's this one spot in the middle of my back I just can't reach. . . ."

Smiling mischeviously, Sly darted into the room, followed by Hugo's yells of "Children! I'm working with foolish, sex-crazed children!"

Once inside, and actually helping Carmelita add the dye, Sly recieved his first lesson in Arabic. While memorizing the basic grammatical structure and his first few words, Sly helped Carmelita pile her hair on top of her head before wrapping a tan head cloth that was much longer than Sly's own _kuffiyah_ into a loose turban. Adding kohl to her eyes, Sly held Carmelita away from him, looking her over from head to toe.

"One perfect arab youth. You'll make all the ladies swoon my dear, but such is a dandy's lot in life."

Puching him lightly, Carmelita pushed past him to look in the mirror mounted on one wall. A young, dark-furred fox looked out at her, his eyes gleaming from behind darked eyelids and a dusty turban. His robes clung to his sides, making him appear taller and slimmer, while still being able to conceal anything he might want to hide. The change was so drastic that, had Carmelita not known that it was her, she would have thought there was a third person in the room. Stepping out of the room, she reached up to the gun rack on one side and, picking out an Enfield revolver, she turned, a new person in a wonderfully exotic world. "What's next?"

Glossary

_abbaya:_ long, loose over robe

_bedu_: wanderers, travelers, a nomadic people in the Arab countries

_burkah_: long, concealing, women's robe

_firengi: _foreigner

_haram:_ forbidden, taboo

kohl: a type of makeup for the area around the eyes that also helps block some of the sun.

_kuffiyah_: loose head cloth 

_Maalesh_: oh well, that's tough, life goes on

Luger P.08: common German pistol

Enfield Revolver and Hugo's Colt are also well-known guns from that era.


	5. Time Flies When You're A Mage

Author's note: Wow. It has been so long since I posted, an for that, I am very sorry. I keep getting caught up in stuff, like AP and IB tests (which I hope will burn in hell for all eternity). Again, sorry it took so long. I'm going to try to be more consistent, so expect the next chapter by around this time next week.

Time Flies When You're a Mage

"Asking good questions is half of learning." – Muhammad

"I hate camels," grumbled Sly as he shifted, trying to get comfortable on his swaying mount, "Reminds me of that Pirate ship we used for the Cooper Vault."

"They're called the ships of the desert for a reason, Sly. Now, repeat that in Arabic."

Clumsily, Sly managed to repeat about half of the sentence before Carmelita needed to correct him. While Sly's knowledge of the language was improving, and his accent was flawless, it would be a while before he could be considered fluent.

Murray, on the other hand, was even worse off. He had never had a gift for languages, and had a hard time with even the basic Arabic words. After careful consideration, Hugo had disguised Murray as a hardened thug, refusing to speak by choice, not necessity. Adding a long black moustache and a mane of black hair, Sly and Hugo had turned him into someone reminiscent of the legendary assassins; feared for both appearance and skill. With a huge scimitar on his waist and a rifle over his shoulder, no one would dare challenge him, or so they hoped.

"Where are we going again?" asked Sly, having to try several times before he had satisfied Carmelita's exacting standards.

"Haifa. It's a coastal town. Small, but useful. That was where Cedric said he was going to meet his contact. It's also his last known location," sighed Hugo, "I just hope we're not too late."

Those who have seen war, true war, often speak of the horror, the flames rising in the night sky, and the smell of the dead. There is no understanding of its nature; just like love, war is a force of nature, and is beyond our comprehension. But to those who have seen it in all its 'glory,' there is only one thing to do. Run. Run, and don't look back.

"Dios Mio," exclaimed Carmelita in horror, seeing the destruction around her as they walked through the shell of a once prosperous town, "Who could have done this?"

"Anyone. British angry at the natives. Moslems afraid of being pushed out by Zionists. Turks angry after their defeat. You'll get used to it," stated Hugo as he turned away from death, "Let's see if there's anything we can find about Cedric."

"Cedric? These people are dead and you want to search for clues!" shouted Carmelita, grabbing Hugo's collar and shaking him like a doll.

Looking her straight in the eyes, Hugo snarled, "This doesn't happen."

"What do you mean this doesn't happen! These people are dead and you don't even care! You can you feel nothing?" Carmelita screamed, throwing him to the ground. Sly caught her arm, trying to console her. Even as experienced cops and thieves, Carmelita had never seen such wanton destruction; murder, yes, but not massacre.

"Because they don't die!" growled Hugo, brushing himself off as he stood, "This simply doesn't happen. There's no record of a massacre of this size. For this to happen, someone messed with time, either Cedric or the people he was chasing. If we find Cedric, we can keep this from happening. So instead of losing control over one village, let's try to focus on a problem that involves a few more people shall we?" Shaking her off, Hugo drew a circle in the ash at his feet, creating a pentagram from the wreckage. Sitting in the middle, he began to chant.

To the others' surprise, the destruction vanished, to be replaced by a bustling cityscape. A town by the sea, they could smell the aroma of the day's catch, hear the banter of people making their daily rounds, shopping, selling, or simply enjoying the day.

"He was here," Hugo said listlessly, opening his eyes as if in a trance. To the others' astonishment, his eyes had turned to pure black orbs, reflected both the light of the moon they knew to be above them, as well as the light of the sun from the illusion he was creating. "I can sense his magic. Every being has an aura, the more powerful the being, the more enduring the aura. If I can just . . . ."

Watching in stunned silence, the others saw the city slow, then move backwards, the illusion turning back in time, as if Hugo had hit the rewind button, people undid their purchases, and the sun set in the east. The movement sped, and as the gang watched, hours, days, even weeks passed. A traveling mullah1 whirred past, his train leading the charge backwards. The suddenly, everything slowed to a stop, then began to go forward again.

"We're here."

"Where is he?" asked Sly, still holding onto Carmelita.

"Wait, I'll change the spell," muttered Hugo as he knitted his brows in concentration. Slowly, some of the people around them began to glow, colors emerging from their hearts, colored by the form of their souls. One man's green shadow curled like a snake, a little girl glinted gold as she played with a doll. As the lights grew brighter, one leapt into a life of its own; a twirling, spinning, leaping flame that, if loosed, would have consumed everyone in sight. Settling, it formed a blazing cloak around one insidious-looking wolf, twirling a dagger and watching the crowd with his one good eye, his other a simple eyepatch.

"His favorite disguise," laughed Hugo as the scene played out before them. As the time passed, Cedric simply sat, waiting. Hours must have passed, people flew past as Hugo searched for the right time. Finally, Cedric stood, and time resumed its normal course. Standing, he joined a crowd around a preaching mullah. With wild arm gestures and shakes of his hands, the mullah riled up the crowd, ending his speech with an accusing finger pointed at a random innocent and releasing the mob he had created to do his bidding. Turning from the chaos, Cedric walked away, and later followed the mullah as he left, a silent shadow along the dunes.

Hugo collapsed, and the image vanished.

"Are you okay?" asked Murray, grabbing the jaguar before he could hurt himself.

"Yeah," he said, using Murray as support, staggering to his feet, "Time spells always take the most out of you."

"So, where to next?" asked Sly, mimicking Cedric's knife twirling.

"Masada, it's an ancient fortress to the East of here. That's where the mullah, and Cedric were heading."

"Mullah?" asked Sly, both curious and aloof, seemingly entranced by his spinning blade.

"A priest or holy man," answered Carmelita, snatching Sly's knife out of his fingers, "He's probably more of a zealot, considering the riot back there."

"And that's probably why Cedric was following him. Let's get going. Oh, and keep me from falling off my camel, I'm going to sleep," Hugo yawned, leaping onto his mount's back and using its neck as a pillow.


	6. A Rude Awakening

_Author's note: Sorry it took so long. Updated for relatedness. I WILL have a 'new' chapter up by this weekend, if all goes well._

A Rude Awakening

There are many ways to wake up in the morning. Some people have their alarms break them from their peaceful slumber, jerking awake in the pre-dawn haze to rush to work or school. Others sleep in, lazily waking to meet the demands of the day. But, as everyone can agree, the worst way to be woken up is by the sound of bullets.

Well, everyone but Hugo anyway. Jerking awake, Hugo drew his rifle from his back, scanning the nearby cliffs, looking for the shooter. Hearing another shot go off by his camel's foot, he leapt behind a nearby rock, still looking for whoever was trying to kill him. Shaking off the last effects of his long nap, he saw the others nearby, also having taken cover from the shooter.

Thinking, Hugo switched to French, one language that was probably not in much use in 1930's Israel. "Vous parlez francais?" (You guys speak French?)

"Mais oui," came Sly's voice from a nearby rock. (But of course)

"Qu'est-ce qui se passe?" asked Hugo, annoyed that his nap had been interrupted. (What is going on?)

"Un tireur au fusil est fusille à nous," Carmelita shouted, firing over the top of her cover. (A sniper is shooting at us.)

"C'est evident," growled Hugo, "Où est il?" (Obviously. Where is he?)

"La falaise à droit." (The cliff to the right)

"Magnifique," growled Hugo, (Magnificent) wishing dearly for the sights on an AK-47 or a P90. Heck, just a ACOG scope would be nice. Aiming as best, he could, he fired up at the cliff, hoping he'd hit something.

"Je débuche," called Sly, "Attention." (I'm breaking cover. Watch out) With that, Sly sped across the open ground like a wraith, leaping onto the cliff as Carmelita, Hugo and Murray fired up at the cliff, distracting the sniper. As soon as Sly made it to the cliff, the three darted back behind cover, reloading.

"Ma munition épuise," called Murray. (My ammo is low)

"Merdre," swore Hugo as he checked his own ammunition. (Shit)

Suddenly, the shots stopped, and the gang could hear the sounds of a raccoon who was very pleased with himself.

"Come on up, I got him," said Sly, very carefully in Arabic.

After hiking up the back of the bluff, the gang came up to find Sly lounging on top of the back of a weasel, bound and gagged with an old rifle on the ground nearby. Picking up the rifle, Hugo checked the range before slinging it over his back. Always best to have extra weapons.

"Turn him over," growled Hugo. Obliging, Sly grabbed the man's foot and twisted, forcing him to roll over onto his back. Taking off the man's gag, Hugo asked very calmly "Who do you work for?" Shaking his head, the man spat at Hugo, and missed.

"Do we kill him?" asked Carmelita, oddly bloodthirsty for a ex-police officer, causing Sly to smile fondly at his wife.

"No," responded Hugo coldly, "We'll just leave him here like this. If he doesn't die of the sun or the heat, the scavengers will eat him. He'll die, just much more painfully." Taking a look at the man's face, Hugo smiled cruelly. "Or," he almost purred as he reached into his _abbaya, _causing the captive to panic, the blood rushing from his face, before Hugo pulled out tobacco and some paper. Smiling, Hugo began to roll a cigarette, before lighting it.

"You really shouldn't smoke," admonished Carmelita, looking at the homemade cig with disdain, "Do you know what's in those?"

Grinning ferally, Hugo nodded, "Actually, I do. Tobacco. With some nicotine, or course. Cigarettes were a lot better – in comparison – than modern ones. No tar, no arsenic, and polonium and cadmium-free. Course, this one really isn't for smoking." Holding it before the man's face, he grabbed the man's hand, pushing the lit end towards the man's hand. When that got no response, Hugo shook his head, chagrined. "Of course, that wouldn't work on you." Bringing it up to the man's eye, he literally beamed.

"Now, either tell me what I want to know, or I burn out your eyes."

The man gulped, the fear of losing his sight obviously getting to him.

"I count to five. One, two, thr…"

"Alright. I'll talk," the weasel almost screamed, twitching his head away from the burning end. "The _mullah_, the priest, he said get rid of four _firengi_ following him. He said it would be good money. I would do him a service. He never said you could fight."

"This priest, where did he go?" asked Carmelita, calmly.

"He went North, towards Gaza."

"Thanks," muttered Hugo, before kicking him in the head. Slicing his bonds, he gestured for the others to follow him back to the camels. "We have a new destination. Let's get going."

* * *

Several thousand miles away, two young men walked through a bazaar, listening to the sounds of the crowd. No matter where one goes, all market places are the same. Every super mall to every flea market has the same feeling of urgency as people go about their shopping, and every one has the same kinds of people, merchants selling goods, shoppers looking for goods, and children complaining.

"I hate this time," growled Julie, dressed appropriately in a man's clothing as she strolled down the aisles, "No shampoo, nowhere to get a proper bath, and no deodorant. And it takes forever to get the snags out of my hair." The very self-conscious lynx stopped a hand that had come up unconsciously to fix her hair.

"Get used to it," whispered Grace, only her face shown under the thick black _kuffiyah_, "We'll be here for a while." As they talked, a young, apparently male, white tiger ran up to them. Grinning ear to ear, she jerked to a halt in front of them.

"Guess what I just found out," purred Angelina as she hopped from foot to foot, her news giving her a nervous energy befitting a five-year old, "We've found him."

Grimacing, Julie reaching into her _abbayah, _drawing out a couple coins and dropping them into Grace's open palm. Smirking, Grace answered Angelina's questioning look, "We had a bet. It took you less than an hour to get the info, so I won. Where is he?"

"A spice seller saw him leaving the city yesterday, after another _firengi_ had already left."

"You think he's the one Cedric's looking for?" asked Julie, excited by the hope of finally getting to go home and get clean.

"Maybe," murmured Grace quietly, causing both of the other two young women to glance at her, surreptitiously. Since Cedrik had disappeared, Grace had gotten more and more anxious, to the point where she'd finally dragged Julie and Angelina, a relatively new recruit, into her search. "Either way, let's get going."

With that, the three young women walked out of the market, ready to finish what they'd set out to do.


End file.
